The Matter of Trousers
by Unhobbity Hobbit
Summary: Pippin's past experiences become useful when his son, Faramir, is the victim of bullying. One-shot


Peregrin Took, The Took, Thain of the Shire, was sitting at his desk, writing of the virtues of pipe-weed for his book. The sun was shining in through the window and making the dust sparkle as it danced on the faint breeze of his breath. He was finding it hard to concentrate today, his mind was telling him that he should be working while the rest of him was yelling to be outside in the warmth of the sun, spinning until he was dizzy, then flopping down on the grass next to Merry. Then they could run to Bag End to see Frodo. But Frodo wasn't there anymore, and hadn't been for years.  
  
Pippin hit himself on the head with the heel of his hand to try to stop his mind from wandering, but he was having trouble with his mind today.  
  
He heard the door of the Smial open and the faint sound of a young hobbit plodding his way inside. Pippin kept very quiet with a smile on his face, he could tell it was Faramir. But something was wrong, Faramir was sniffing and it was mid-July. He didn't have a cold and Pippin knew there was only one alternative.  
  
"Faramir?" He called into the hallway, "Faramir, come in here." The sniffing stopped and there was a flurry of activity, most likely Faramir trying desperately to get the tears off his face. Pippin watched the doorway worriedly and he smiled sadly when Faramir appeared around it. His eyes were rubbed quite red and his breaths were still hitching, they were clearly audible in the silent and near empty Smial.  
  
"What is it lad?" Pippin motioned for Faramir to sit on his knee, "Tell me what's wrong."  
  
"It's- It's the town lads." Said Faramir, bravely trying to keep his voice level.  
  
"What have they done?"  
  
"They said that- that my trousers are all old and mucky and a pig wouldn't be seen wearing them!" Faramir began shaking with silent sobs and Pippin held his son close. For an eight-year-old, these were harsh words.  
  
"Well, I'm not entirely sure they knew who your father is, did they?"  
  
"Oh daddy, please don't do anything, it'll only make it worse, they punched Frodo in the face when he stood up to them."  
  
"Is Frodo all right?"  
  
"I- I don't know, I was crying too much to see properly."  
  
"Well, I have just the thing to make them sorry they ever thought of picking on any child within the bounds of the Shire." He picked Faramir up and carried him to the living room, where he put Faramir down and opened an old sturdy chest. He pulled out some neatly folded black clothing, it clinked slightly as it was moved. Faramir gasped and Pippin smiled at him.  
  
"I'll be back in a moment." Said Pippin, and he left to a more private room. Faramir in the meanwhile marvelled at the boots that remained in the chest, he'd never seen anything of the like before. Soon Pippin returned, fully garbed as a guard of the citadel. It was all well cleaned and oiled, and the chain mail gleamed in the sunlight. "Ready for action as you always told me Boromir." Pippin mumbled under his breath so his son barely knew he'd said anything. "Shall we be off then?" He said to Faramir.  
  
Before long the two were riding the largest horse in the Tookish stables, a proper horse. Faramir was seated in front of him, holding tightly to the arm that was wrapped around him, as it was a very long way down.  
  
"There they are." He whispered as they neared a crossing in the roads where a group of seven or eight children were playing. They barely noticed the arrival of the horse until it stopped next to them. When Pippin dismounted a few of them tipped their caps at him and a general murmur of "Mr. Took" ran around them. Then he lifted Faramir down and there was a gasp from a few in the group. One started to yell at him until another elbowed him in the stomach to shut him up.  
  
"My son tells me you've got something to say about his trousers." Said Pippin in his business voice. Faramir looked down at his trousers, they were all patched and muddy and he knew they didn't look very good but they were comfortable and he was able to get them dirty when playing with Merry, the young Gardner or the old Brandybuck.  
  
There was a general reply of "No, nothing." From the town lads.  
  
"You're saying my son is a liar?" the group were knocked into silence, they couldn't win. "Well, I'd never thought I'd see the day respectable Shire hobbits started behaving like unruly Bree children, it's disgraceful." Attentions began to wander, they had heard talks like this too many times before, granted they'd never been compared to Bree children before, but it was all essentially the same. "If you think trousers matter, then you are sorely mistaken. Do you think when it comes to the important things in life, your trousers are going to make a difference?" Faramir could see the lads getting restless, his father wasn't helping the situation one bit.  
  
"Do you really think that if some great evil rose up in the south, you'd be spared because you have clean trousers? When you are before the flaming eye, searching and searing your very soul, will you say 'spare me I have clean trousers!'? When he is tormenting you, laughing at you, will your trousers matter? Or will they suddenly matter when your flesh is burning and your head ready to explode? Or perhaps when the coldness of his laugh leaches the very warmth from your blood and you long to be burned again? What about when you are left sitting in a cold stone room, your friends laid out in front of you as cold and pale as death, a hand reaching out to crush their necks and you have no way of stopping it. Then the cold grips your entire body and you yourself slowly slip into the darkness of the abyss where you will never find peace, love or hope ever again. Is that when trousers will matter?"  
  
The boys were stunned into silence a few of the younger ones were even crying, half because of the images Pippin had laid out in their minds, and half because of the way he'd said it. Pippin was breathing quickly, as though he had just run a race. "No, I didn't think they would." Said Pippin coldly, "Thank you, and a good afternoon to you."  
  
He lifted Faramir back onto the horse and used a fence to mount himself. When they were safely trotted back homeward Faramir turned to his father (still gripping his arm) in awe.  
  
"Did you really see all that daddy, did the dark lord really do that?"  
  
"Well, some of it was from cousin Frodo, some was from cousin Merry and some from my own experience, and some was just some embellishment on my part."  
  
"When can we read the rest of the red book daddy?"  
  
"When mummy says you can."  
  
"But I want to read it all now."  
  
"Well, next time we visit Sam, we can read Bilbo's story and then we can read about the party, I was the same age as you then, your mother shouldn't find anything wrong with it." Faramir gave his father the biggest hug he could manage with staying on the horse.  
  
"Thank you daddy." 


End file.
